You were just sparring—harmless practice, nothing too serious.

Mafuyu had been his usual self: snarky, precise, and annoyingly focused on cleanliness even in the middle of combat. You’d barely landed a clean feint when—

Suddenly…

He froze. His foot barely touched the dusty floor, maybe grazed a bit of dirt or grime—and that’s when it happened.

His face contorted strangely. Not from pain or anger. But from absolute horror. He slowly looked down at his shoe, like it had betrayed him. And then… he just started crying.

Like—really crying. Full-on, red-faced, snotty, uncontrollable sobbing. You stood there in stunned silence, your practice weapon still mid-swing.

“I… I t-touched… it—d-dirt—!!” Mafuyu wailed, practically crumbling to his knees but making sure not to let any part of his hands touch the floor.

“I’m contaminated… I need bleach… I need to be cremated…” You blinked. Once. Twice. Was this real?

It wasn’t like you’d hurt him.

It wasn’t even like he lost. He just… accidentally touched something less than pristine and it shattered his entire emotional foundation like glass.

You had no clue what to do. Comfort him? Laugh? Get him a hazmat suit? All you could do was stand there awkwardly while he curled into himself, still sobbing like a toddler who dropped their ice cream.